


Ableism and Scotch Pine

by LazarusLiszet



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (maybe future??), (past) - Freeform, Ableism, Ableist Language, Abraxas Malfoys A+ Parenting, Albus Dumbledore & Severus Snape Mentor Relationship, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Severus Snape, Blind Character, Blind Severus Snape, Bottom Severus Snape, Chronic Illness, Complicated Relationships, Creature Inheritance, Creature Severus Snape, Cruciatus, Depression, Disability, Draco Malfoy-Prince, Fey Severus Snape, Good Albus Dumbledore, Good Draco Malfoy, Good Lucius Malfoy, Good Remus Lupin, Good Severus Snape, Hurt Severus Snape, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Mpreg, Implied Sexual Content, Implied Suicide Attempt(s), Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Torture, Loving Marriage, Lucius Malfoy Being an Asshole, Lucius Malfoy-Prince, M/M, Married Narcissa Black/Evan Rosier, Married Severus Snape/Lucius Malfoy, Maybe - Freeform, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Mentally Ill Severus, Mpreg, No Bashing, Okay maybe I bash on Slughorn a bit, Past Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Past Mpreg, Past Rape/Non-con, Possessive Lucius Malfoy, Post Mpreg, Powerful Severus Snape, Pregnant Severus Snape, Protective Lucius Malfoy, Protective Severus Snape, Severus Malfoy-Prince, Severus Snape Has a Heart, Severus Snape Has a Sibling, Severus Snape Has a Twin, Severus Snape-centric, Sick Character, Sick Severus Snape, Sirius Black Tries to grow up, Top Lucius Malfoy, Trans Male Character, Trans Severus Snape, Trans character by trans author, and sort of succeeds
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-06
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:06:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23971288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LazarusLiszet/pseuds/LazarusLiszet
Summary: Severus Snape navigates life after being blinded in his fifth year of school by Sirius Black's orchestrated "prank", as a member of a nearly extinct race of magical beings, as a spy bridging the distance between two great wizards, and as the husband of Lucius Malfoy. His story is one steeped in misfortune and love, led by a promise he made to a woman ten years dead, and his determination to see those he cares for safe and breathing.How he fares is to be seen, but it certainly changes a wealth of things within a timeline once set in stone.###This is basically an exercise in how many AUs I can write at once while keeping the subjects vaguely in character and canon relatively unscathed. It's definitely going to have veered off completely by book 6. Yes, I'm rewriting the whole series (hopefully!).
Relationships: Albus Dumbledore & Severus Snape, Background Narcissa Black/Evan Rosier, Eventual Hermione Granger & Harry Potter & Ron Weasley & Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger & Harry Potter & Ron Weasley, Lily Evans Potter & Severus Snape, Lucius Malfoy & Narcissa Black Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy & Narcissa Black Malfoy & Severus Snape, Lucius Malfoy & Severus Snape, Lucius Malfoy/Severus Snape, Minerva McGonagall & Severus Snape, Narcissa Black Malfoy & Severus Snape, Vincent Crabbe & Gregory Goyle & Draco Malfoy, past Lucius Malfoy/Narcissa Black
Comments: 40
Kudos: 269





	1. Chapter 1

Minerva slips into the staff lounge, lighting the candles within the room with a lazy flick of her wand as she hangs her cloak on one of the hooks by the door. The heavy, expensive black fabric hanging on the next hook over probably should have told her someone else was here, but she hadn't really paid it any attention. Serves her right, she thinks breathlessly as she jumps out of her skin upon turning round, eyes widening behind square spectacles as she sees her colleague sitting there in the low backed armchair by the cold, unlit fireplace. "Severus!" She exclaims, exasperatedly. Severus tilts his head slightly in acknowledgement of her presence, not bothering to look in her general direction. His fine boned hand had paused where it was feeling over the book in his lap, though. "Minerva," he greets eventually, cordially, his hand resuming its movement. His feet are kicked up on the leather ottoman opposite the chair, 

"You gave me quite a fright," she tells him dryly, striding over to the tea and coffee station in the corner of the room. He hums vaguely in reply, and she smiles to herself at his short manner. The young man has been a professor here for years, now, making a fierce reputation for himself among the students despite (or perhaps because of) his blindness. Even the board of governers has been impressed by his ability to create a safe classroom environment, and has more than once remarked on how pleased they are at the all-time low injury rate. Though, their pleasantness may have something to do with Severus' husband being on the board. "Tea?"

"Please," he murmurs easily, reaching for his opaque glasses, which he had set on the table by his chair while he was alone. 

"Oh, you don't have to bother with those if you don't want to, Severus. I don't mind," Minerva reassures, knowing well enough that Severus might put them back on anyways. Some people like to keep to themselves. She doesn't really care either way--she just wants Severus to be comfortable. Severus nods abbortively and leaves the glasses where they lie.

She's careful to make a good amount of noise without spilling any of the tea in the mug when she sets it on the table by Severus' hand, finding her own gaze drawn to Severus' unforcused eyes. They aren't marred at all, and someone might be hard pressed to believe he's blind at all, were it not for their slightly glassy nature. He rolls his eyes at her, but mutters a begrudging thank you for the tea nonetheless. 

With a self-satisfied smile, Minerva settles herself into the opposite armchair with some forms she needs to fill out for the ministry. 

"Is your boy coming on the train?" She asks a few minutes later, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled around them.

"Yes. Lucius and I are going to Diagon Alley to buy the rest of his supplies tomorrow, though. I think Narcissa and her son are going to join us."

"Not her husband?" Minerva asks, surprised.

"Evan Rosier was killed by Auror Moody a few months before his son was born," Severus murmurs tonelessly. There had been no lost love between him and his classmate, and he hadn't really been affected by the mans death, but Narcissa had been crushed. She and her child, Everett, had stayed with them in Malfoy Manor while Narcissa mourned, and he and Lucius had been made the childs godfathers. Draco and Everett are fast friends, and his dragon is very excited by the upcoming shopping trip. He can only hope that the rest of Draco's friends are as quick-witted and responsible as Rosier's boy--and gods know he got those traits from Narcissa, rather than his father.

"Oh," Minerva says, softly. She sounds torn--as if she's just remembered that she's in the company of a former death eater. She and Albus are the only ones who know with certainty, of course, and Minerva often finds herself conflicted about her friendship with the young man. It is a friendship. She and Severus have built comraderie on a foundation of bickering, betting pools (mainly about how fast the next DADA professor will run screaming, though they do quidditch, too), and gossip that Minerva finds very refreshing. Of course, Severus is a difficult man to be friends with--he's acerbic, caustic, bitter, and sometimes downright cruel, but he also has a few soft spots hidden behind those round spectacles and the wild, oily curls that often find themselves covering his face. 

He also has a scandelous, ghastly sense of humor that Minerva delights in on a regular basis.

"Do you need anything from there, while I'm out?" Severus says, in a harsh way that would probably make anyone else stammer out a firm no!, but Minerva recognizes Severus' attempt to show kindness, despite the jagged, unpleasant way that his words sometimes come out in.

"Oh, Severus, you don't have to--"

"I still haven't repaid you for that quill you made me, and it really isn't any trouble. That tea you like so much, perhaps, from Rosa Lee's? Filius said you were out." 

"Oh, fine, yes," she says, stifling a grin, "if you must."

"Such a hardship, accepting gifts from colleagues," he drawls, not bothering to hide his own crooked grin. 

###

The streets of Diagon Alley are unfortunately close knit--Severus takes to allowing Lucius and Draco to make sure he doesn't trip or run into anyone, rather than trip people himself with his cane. Lucius' broad hand firm on his back helps, a bit, and he's glad he can't see the stares he's getting, though he can still feel them boring into his skull. Narcissa and Everett had broken off to stop at Gringott's, having already bought the boys wand last week. Draco has to be tugged away from the window of Quality Quidditch Supplies and steered firmly towards Ollivanders. He even has to tug on Lucius a bit. "Really, your priorities are entirely skewed, the both of you! A wand is the best part of this trip, and tradition says we do it first," Severus admonishes, exasperated and fond all the same. 

"What tradition?" Draco asks, confusedly. "I didn't know there was one." 

Severus pauses, suddenly off balance. He would be lying if he said he didn't know what possesed him to say such a thing. He swallows thickly and tries to shake off the very vivid memory of when he first came to diagon alley twenty years ago with a very pushy redheaded menace and a clumsy, exasperating sister. 

"Promise me, when we all have kids, and we're old and weird and mature, we'll take 'em together, and go to Ollivanders first off! It'll be a tradition, from here till the end of time!" Lily exclaims, red hair long and frizzy, her emerald eyes glimmering brightly.

"Yer onto somethin', Lily! After all, the 'save best for last' thing is absolute rubbish! I promise!" Riddy had exclaimed, her black eyes wide and glittering with defiance at something or another. The world, perhaps.

"Me too. Let's shake on it?"

"Of course!"

Now, he's here with his son while Lily's dead, her son is gods only know where with Hagrid, of all people, and Riddy is teaching arithmancy in Shanghai, childless and single. They were so naive back then. Lucius, bless him, saves Severus from explaining all of his tangled emotions to their son, "Severus and one of his friends once made a promise to that effect..." he trails off for a beat and then says, sharply, "Nevermind that, he's right, you know. Saving the best for last is foolish, some of the time."

"The best would be a broom," Draco whinges, causing Severus to chuckle softly, shaking his head a bit and ruffling Draco's errant curls. 

A bell tinkles loudly when the door to Ollivanders is swung open, and it still smells like dust and wand wood varnish. "Ah! Professor Snape, Mr. Malfoy-Prince, young Mr. Malfoy-Prince good afternoon! Look at you, all grown up!"

"It's just Mr. Malfoy-Prince outside of business, Mr. Ollivander."

"Ah, of course, of course. My, it seems just yesterday you and those girls were bouncing about the shop! Blackthorn, nine and a half inches, swishy, isn't it? Just like your sisters." 

"It was, sir, yes."

"Was?" Mr. Ollivander says, sharply. Severus smiles wanly.

"Why, we aren't here for me, are we?"

"It's fine!" Draco exclaims, sounding very curious. Severus sighs and produces his wand with a sarcastic flourish. 

"Oh!" Mr. Ollivander exclaims, startledly. Severus imagines that his eyes are probably bugging out of his skull, but he could be wrong. His tone says otherwise, of course. "That--That is--"

"Yes," Severus drawls, dryly. He smooths his thumb against the furthark rune carved into the handle, smiling bitterly at the man behind the counter.

"My grandfather made that wand, fifteen and a half inches, ebony, dual-core... thestral hair and chimera scale fragment, very rigid, is it not? And...I assume it was gifted to you?"

"Yes, it was. Seems quite happy to be in use again, as far as I can tell. Now, please, Draco?"

"Yes, yes! Of course! Let me see, let me see," he seems more distracted as he putters around, slipping wands boxes out and shunting them back with a shake of his head. Eventually, he comes back, opening a box that sounds rather new. "Elm, fourteen inches, dragon heartstring core, much like your fathers. Rather rigid." 

Draco, for his part, stares up at Ollivander, feeling his fathers broad hand squeeze his shoulder encouragingly. He picks it up and gives it a swish, balking as the wand causes a vase to explode in a shower of angry sparks. Ollivander snatches the wand out of his hand almost immediately, and Severus flicks a stray splatter of water from his cheek. 

"Right, not that one, then!" Another wand passes, similarly with a dragon heartstring core, and this time made of blackthorn wood. 

It's a ridiculous process, and one that leaves the shop even more dishevelled than before. Finally, Ollivander opens a rather old box, with a wand as pale as Draco's hair, wood carved in a way that looks intricately braided. "Ten inches, hawthorn wood, unicorn hair core, springy."

When Draco swishes this one, a stream of silver, light blue, and green sparks shoots from the wand to speckle the wall, and his fingers tingle. His father pats him firmly on the shoulders with a broad smile, and he spies his Maman grinning proudly, though he's turned his head away a bit to hide the expression. "That one it is!" 

After paying, they meet up with Everett and Narcissa for ice cream, where Draco, after snorting and telling Severus he's gotten icecream on the tip of his long nose and watching him wipe it away with an embarrassed laugh, says, "Say, who gifted you your wand? I didn't even know you've had a different one."

"Ah," Severus makes, softly, "It was Headmaster Dumbledores. Mine was damaged beyond repair in--When I was--" Severus gestures to his eyes, clearing his throat awkwardly. "He won his current one off Grindelwald, a long time ago, and thought his old one would like to be put to use."

"Wow, that wand was Dumbledore's? Wicked!"

"I personally think it's far more impressive in Severus' capable hands, don't you, my dear?" Narcissa says tactfully. 

"Of course! Uncle Sev is kick-ass, isn't he, Draco?" Everett exclaims vibrantly, met with a chorus of Language! from the adults that makes him laugh sheepishly and dig into his sundae. 

"Course he is!" Draco replies, throwing an arm around Severus and jostling him a bit.

Later that day,

"Hogwarts, dear? Oh, I've got another young lad being fitted up just now, in fact! Here we are," Severus hears Madame Malkin say from where he's just come in the door. Getting Draco's books had been delegated to Lucius as soon as he saw who was behind the counter--the new sales clerk was irritatingly condescending towards him last time, and he wasn't in the mood to deal with an ableist idiot today. He's careful walking through the shop, following the sound of Madame Malkin's voice as Draco greets the new arrival. Most of the shops on Diagon Alley stay relatively the same, but Malkin often moves things around, and he doesn't want to trip. The other child Draco's just said hello to sounds strikingly familiar, though Severus can't say from where exactly. 

"My father's up the street looking at owls, and I think Maman's getting my books," Draco says in the bored, flat tone he takes on when talking to people he doesn't know. He's picked up the unfortunate habit from Severus, much to Lucius' amusement, "Then, I'm going to drag them off to look at racing brooms. I don't see why first years can't have their own, but I think I might try to bully Father into getting me one. Dunno how I'll get it past Maman, though, he's--"

"Not going to let any such thing happen," Severus drawls, stepping carefully into the fitting room. He reflexively pushes his opaque, green tinted spectacles up his aquiline nose as Draco makes a frustrated noise at being caught out. Severus smirks in response, which is rewarded with a defeated huff.

"I thought you were getting my books!"

"That awful Ms. Devry is behind the counter. Didn't want to be told blind men have no place in a bookshop. Again."

"That's a terrible thing to say! Don't they have braille in the wizarding world?" comments the other boy, who Severus turns vaguely in the direction of. He hears Madame Malkin working with her pins, brows knitting. Where has he heard that voice before? The boy sounds compassionate rather than pitying in his assessment, at least, and Severus decides that he might hate this one a little less than the rest of his assortment of idiotic students.

Harry, for his part, had once found a few books in braille on the shelves of the Dursley's house, but the only answer Petunia could give to him about them was that one of his mothers friends had gone blind in school, and she'd tried to learn it. 

Petunia had then attempted to throw the books out, having apparently forgotten about them, or mistakenly moved with them, but Harry had begged her to keep them and, while he'd been locked in his cupboard all night for even asking, he'd somehow found the books there under his mattress when he woke up. Now, he knows it was magic that made it happen. He doesn't know very much braille--he could never get the hang of it, but having a few of his mothers books was a very happy thing indeed, whether he could read them or not.

"They have a spell for it," Draco tells the boy, proudly. "Father even taught me how to do it. I'm learning how to read braille from Maman, too, but it's a lot more difficult than the regular letters."

While the boys chatter with a bit more friendliness than Severus was sensing before, Madame Malkin turns her attention on him. "You can have a seat over there if you like, Professor," Says Madame Malkin, to Severus' eternal irritation. 

Before he can snap at her to be more specific Draco says, in a far less cold, arrogant tone than he was using before, "Three steps back and one to the left." 

"Wow, how did you know how many it was?" Harry says, a bit awed as he watches the blind Professor take those exact measured steps and sit calmly in the indicated chair, twisting a moment to rest his white cane against the wall. 

"Lots of practice. Back to the brooms, do you have your own broom?" Draco asks, causing Severus to roll his eyes in fond exasperation, though he's sure no one sees behind his round glasses. Really, that's all his son ever thinks about. And his father, to a point. 

"No. Are you really a Professor from the school?" He asks, directing the question to Severus, startling him a bit. He sounds quite excited about having met a Hogwarts Professor. Maybe a muggleborn? But then, where are the boys parents? Muggle parents aren't the type to leave their children in the shops while they run other errands, unlike halfblood and pureblood ones. Everything is still too new for that. He feels Draco's general stance change to one of irritation at being ignored.

"He teaches potions," Draco answers, rather rudely. 

"I can answer his questions for myself, Dragon," he says, chastisingly. Draco mumbles a quick sorry that slightly assuades Harry's notion that the boy is the same as Dudley. If Dudley had been talked to like that, he would've stomped his foot and thrown a melt down level tantrum. This boy, at least, seems to not be entirely spoiled.

Harry wonders if the boys father is the reason for his Dudley like behavior, and finds himself suddenly confused. Petunia had once, when Dudley's gradeschool english teacher got fired for being homosexual (which, to Harrys bewilderment, Petunia said as if it was a curse word), told him that men loving other men was a horrible, terrible thing, and that people would never be able to marry their own gender so long as she lived.

Harry hadn't put much stock into any of that, because he didn't really see the issue. Who cares, it doesn't hurt anyone, after all! Glad that the wizarding world seems more sensible, Harry decides to ask Hagrid about how, exactly, the fellow eleven year olds two fathers had a son later, and returns his attention to the blond boy beside him. "Don't you play any quidditch?"

Feeling marginally less leery about this boy, but unwilling to reveal how little he knows about the wizarding world, he says "No, I'm not allowed." It isn't really a lie, but he sees the boys "Maman" cock a black brow at him, as if he knows that wasn't the whole truth. 

"I do--Father says it'll be a crime if I'm not picked for my house team, and I have to say, I agree. Any idea what house you'll be in?"

"No," says Harry, bewilderedly.

"Well, no one really knows until they get there, I suppose, but I'll definitely be in Slytherin! After all, one of my parents is the Head of House, and my Father's side of the family has always been in Slytherin," Draco remarks proudly, his black eyes pointedly moving to the Professor, who has pulled out a small journal and is marking things down with what seems to be an enchanted quill. He's putting dots on the pages, and Harry watches for a few seconds, enraptured, as the dots raise up against the paper. "Imagine being in Hufflepuff, I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?"  
  
Severus' head pops up from where it had been habitually tilted down towards the page. Even though he can't see what he's doing, it helps people see that he's focused on doing something. "Draco," he says, slyly, "your aunt was a Hufflepuff, and I doubt she'd be too happy to hear that, don't you think?"  
  
"I--! But...Sorry, Maman, I forgot," he mumbles contritely. Harry gets the feeling that Draco holds a lot of respect for his father--maman? Is that french, or something?--even if he doesn't seem to for other people. Dudley, whom Harry had first related the boy to, holds no respect for _either_ of his parents, not really. Then, as Harry shakes himself from his musings, the blond boys attention is taken to the window, where Harry looks up to see Hagrid standing there, two large ice cream cones in hand, grinning sillily at him.  
  
"I say, who is that?" Draco exclaims, startledly. He sounds rather appalled, and Harry frowns.  
  
"Is that Hagrid?" The blind man interrupts before Harry can answer, his deep, smooth voice slightly surprised. He isn't facing the window, not that he could see out of it anyways, but Harry imagines he might have recognized him from his footsteps. After all, Hagrid has very big feet, and probably very loud steps, though he hadn't really noticed it himself before.  
  
"Yeah," Harry says, satisfied to know something the boy seems not to. "He's the grounds keeper! Do you know him, sir?"  
  
"Is...your name Harry Potter, by any chance?" The man says slowly, an unreadable expression coming over his face. Harry's eyes widen.   
  
"Yeah, that's me," he says, sheepishly. "I, uh, apparently that's a big deal, but honestly I'm just happy to be here, sir. Please don't make a big thing of it."  
  
Severus' brows raise incredulously, but before he can comment on it, Madame Malkin pats Harry on the shoulder and says, "Right, that's you done, dearie."  
  
Harry, full of conflicting ideas and opinions regarding the Professor and his son, hops down from the dais and heads towards the door with a shy _thank you._ Before he leaves, though, he says, "I--er, see you at school, Draco, Professor!" with an awkward half wave.   
  
"I suppose," drawls the boy, unimpressed by his ungainly goodbye.  
  
"Say," Hagrid says as he hands Harry an ice cream cone, "Was that Perfess'r Snape and 'is boy in there?"  
  
"I...guess so? I only got a first name for the boy, Draco," Harry answers hesitantly, explaining his odd interaction with the two of them, and the professors even odder reaction to Harry's identity.  
  
"Ah, yeh, Snape's always been a bit short with people, even before he went--" Hagrid grimaces, abruptly cutting himself off.  
  
"Hargid...did you know Professor Snape _before_ he went blind?"  
  
"Well, yes, I s'pose I walked right into that one, didn't I? Should _not_ have said that, he'll have me head for gossipin' 'bout 'im to the students. Ah well, damage is already done, I s'pose. He lost 'is sight in school, he did. Terrible accident, it was, poor blighter. Still, he's prolly one of the most powerful perfess'r's at the school, talented tah boot. 'Cept Professor Dumbledore, o' course. Don't you go thinkin' that he's harmless coz he's blind, either, Harry. One a the scariest perfess'r's we've got, I say."  
  
"Really? Is he a mean teacher, then?" Harry asks, because to him, scary is equivalent to mean.  
  
"Strict, I'd say is more like it, tho I s'pose you youngun's might say he's a right mean bastard. Got ta be, tho', Potions is a dangerous subject, and kids're less likely tah mess up if they're scared to death, least thats what he says. Works well enough, I guess."  
  
Harry ponders on this for a while, but then Hargrid distracts him with more shopping, and when Harry picks out a bottle of ink that changes colors as he writes, he nearly forgets all about the strange encounter with a blind wizard and his mixed feelings about the mans son.   
  
He also forgets to ask Hargrid just how, exactly, two wizards managed to _have_ a son, because his muggle health classes certainly hadn't covered anything of the sort.  
  
###  
  
The welcome feast was mostly amazing, but Harry couldn't get the thought of what Percy had said about Professor Snape out of his head.   
  
_"You'll need to be careful with that one, Harry. Professor Snape hardly ever gives out points, but he sure does like to take them, and his classroom runs a bit different to the others. You won't be raising your hand in it, at the very least. Most sure fire way to make him mad is doing just that--he hates it when people forget he's blind. Must be annoying, I suppose."_  
  
And that isn't even mentioning the odd pain in his scar and the bizarre sensation of being watched, despite the fact that the Professor couldn't possibly have been looking at him.   
  
Now, as Harry has taken a seat in the potions classroom in the dungeons, he finds himself nervous. He looks over to Malfoy, who, oddly enough, doesn't seem to share his fathers name, and finds the boy looking comfortable if a little impatient. Excited, perhaps. His white-blond hair is a mess of curls just like Snape's, Harry notes, though it is far less thick and oily, and the boy talks like him a lot. He and Draco certainly aren't friends, and Harry's feelings on him are still mainly undecided.  
  
Before he can further contemplate it, the door to the classroom slams open with a resounding _crack,_ though the Professor pauses to hang his cane on a hook in the doorway and say, harshly, "If your bags are in the walking space of the classroom, _move_ them now."  
  
A brief, hurried shuffle of bags and books commences on the Gryffindor side of the room, though the Slytherin's things are all neatly out of the way already. It seems only Harry and Hermione, out of all the Gryffindor's, had had the forethought to keep their things out of the way.  
  
Once the noise has stopped, the Professor stalks into the classroom, the long half-cloak draped over his left shoulder billowing behind him. He says, in a harsh, unpleasant drawl that is very different to the tone Harry heard him using in Madame Malkins, "There will be _no_ foolish wand waving in this class." He reaches the font of the room and turns sharply to face them, leaning casually against the desk and folding his thin, blackclad arms over a similarly thin chest. Harry notes that the Professor's green spectacles look completely black in the low light of the dungeon, and that his coat has an awful lot of buttons. His cloak is affixed to a black leather mantle, a shoulder piece of sorts, that laces up with leather cords, tight against his thin throat.  
  
Like Flitwick, the Potions master starts with roll call, though instead of going down the list with his eyes he trails his fingers over each name before calling it out. After an exasperated, pregnant pause following the first name, and a dry, "If you've just risen your hand, put it _down_ and verbally respond. A "here" will no doubt suffice." Followed by a low, _"Idiot_ " hissed under his breath.  
  
Stifled laughter follows this, mainly at the unfortunate Lavender Brown, who flushes to the roots of her hair and responds with a meek "Here, sir. Sorry, sir."  
  
Some of the Muggleborn students are staring at the dark haired professor in bewilderment, though Hermione seems not to be one of them, for some reason. Is it really that odd to have a blind teacher? Harry isn't sure. _He_ has never had one, but he heard from Dudley, who said some rather mean things about the poor woman, that his second grade mathmatics teacher had been blind.   
  
And just as Flitwick had done, Snape pauses when he comes to Harry's name, that odd expression taking over his face again, and says, "Ah, yes. Harry Potter. Our new-- _celebrity_ ," though Harry notes that the tone isn't nearly so scalding as the words themselves. They sound rather pensive, actually, as if he has mixed feelings about Harry as much as Harry does about him. Maybe because of their conversation in Madame Malkin's?  
  
Draco Malfoy's friends, Crabbe and Goyle, snicker at Snape's assessment, and the professor turns his head sharply towards them. Draco seems to have stifled his own laughter adequately, though the Professor can't see his sons smirking face. "Something to add, Mr. Crabbe, Mr. Goyle?"   
  
No one mentions that Draco was laughing too, albeit silently, and Harry doesn't either as the two Slytherin boys stumble over themselves to deny the mans sharp words. Harry gets a feeling that Professor Snape might dislike them as much as he dislikes him--though it certainly sounds more genuine with the two other boys. Snape almost seems _undecided_ when he talks to Harry.  
  
"Right," the black haired professor sighs, bracing his hands on the desk on either side of him, "Let us get this out of the way quickly, shall we? I am, as you all may have _gathered_ , with your _impecable_ eleven year old deduction skills, completely blind. And no, I will not be taking questions about it," he adds dryly, just as several hands shoot up in the air, mainly from muggleborns or muggle-raised halfbloods who may be wondering about how a blind man got such a dangerous teaching position. Harry can't help but think they're being very silly, given that the Professor has already pointed out that he can't _see_ them raising their hands. The wizarding students seem to not have those questions, and Harry can't help but wonder why that would be. _He_ doesn't have questions because Hargid had already told him Snape dislikes people telling students about him. How would _they_ know that, though? "In this class," he intones, "you will not raise your hand. Instead, you will rap once on the desk. I will hear you and tell where you are by that, and I will call out the number engraved on the table top--I do not know your names by memory yet, nor can I tell you apart by the sounds of your knuckles on hardwood. Whoever knocks first gets priority, and so on. You will say your name after I call out the number on your desk, and eventually I will have learned them adequately. For this reason, I ask that you stay in your chosen seats for the rest of the year. By second year I should be able to recognize you by your voices, but this system will stay in effect nonetheless."  
  
After a short pause for effect, he says, quietly and with a tone that suggests it is a very obvious courtesy, "And keep your bags tucked beneath your desks. If I trip over your belongings you will have a _months_ worth of detention with Mr. Filch, the caretaker." Harry supposes it _is_ a very obvious courtesy--the Professor wouldn't be able to see their bags if they were in the aisle, would he? He probably has the room itself memorized, and changing things about would no doubt be jarring.  
  
Ron, though, had grumbled near inaudibly at the sheer unfairness of that much detention for a simple slip up. Harry had hardly even heard him, so he's startled when Snape turns his attention on them.  
  
"Mr. Weasley, isn't it?" Professor Snape says suddenly, sharply, "I would keep your whinging to yourself, if I were you. After all, asking that you show me some basic respect and courtesy is _anything_ but unfair, and you would do well to remember it as such. If I do not enforce the rules of this classroom they will not be followed. Am. I. Clear?"  
  
"Y-Yes sir," Ron stammers, wide eyed. This time, more than the Slytherin students quietly snicker, and Harry even spots a few Gryffindor's passing Ron some unfriendly looks, and the Slytherin's seem to be doing that unanimously. Harry is surprised by that--it seems the Professor's reasoning doesn't just make sense to him. Malfoy, especially, seems to be glaring at Ron.   
  
"One point from gryffindor for your cheek," Snape murmurs, causing Ron to swallow noisily--maybe avoiding an outraged noise.  
  
Then, Snape effortlessly regains the attention of the classroom, and launches into an admittedly brilliant speech on potion making--followed by a dry, general statement about how idiotic his students usually are. Harry has never heard the word "dunderhead" before, and wonders if it's wizarding slang or something else.  
  
"Mr. Potter!" Snape says, just as suddenly as when he called on Ron, "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"   
  
Harry stares owlishly at the man, who tips his head slightly in expectation, and grimaces. He has _no_ idea. Ron seems just as stumped, but a sharp knock rings through the classroom from Hermione's desk, and the Professor ignores it, still waiting for an answer from who he's called on. "I don't know, sir."  
  
Snape's lips curl into a sneer, but when he drawls a soft " _Pity,_ " it sounds more like he's satisfied than it does a rebuke--as if he's just been proven correct on something. Harry has no clue what that might be, though. "Let's try again," he murmurs, "Where would you find a bezoar?"   
  
Another, louder knock, but Hermione is again ignored. Harry has no idea what a bezoar might be, and tries not to pay attention to Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, and a boy with dark, short hair and sharp, ice blue eyes who Harry doesn't remember the name of, all of whom are shaking with laughter.  
  
"I don't know, sir..."  
  
"I advise you all to thoroughly read your textbooks to _at least_ chapter two in advance of the school year each year," he tells the room, scathingly. "It does not hurt to be prepared. Tell me, does anyone know the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"  
  
Three knocks this time, though Hermione's is far louder than the others, and comes first. Harry looks around, and finds Draco Malfoy and the boy with the blue eyes both with their knuckles still rested casually against the desk.   
  
Harry doesn't know the answer, shrinking back into his seat.   
  
"I thought not," he murmurs, before saying, "Desk three, given that you were patient enough to _wait_ for a time when I was addressing the whole of the class, what is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"  
  
The boy with the icy eyes sends Hermione a nasty, superior look, and says, proudly, "Everett Rosier, sir. They're the same plant, also known as aconite."   
  
"Correct," he says, though he doesn't give points like the other teachers have for correctly answered questions, Harry notes, "For your information, Potter, asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death, and a bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat which will save you from most poisons." A drawn pause, followed by a snapped, "Well? Why aren't you all copying that down?"  
  
The fervent scratch of quills on parchment follows, and Harry follows suit. Rather than settling his opinion on the enigma that is Professor Snape, Harry has been left even more conflicted. Sure, he's harsh, but he isn't as terrible as the Dursley's, and maybe his behavior is warranted. After all, he's probably been teaching for a while, and Harry doesn't doubt students have tried to take advantage of him in the same way his muggle classmates always took advantage of substitute teachers.  
  
Kids are meaner when they think they can get away with it, in Harry's experience. Maybe Hagrid was right about Snape needing to be mean to keep the class in order.   
  
Harry then realizes, rather begrudgingly, that Hagrid was definitely right about kids his age thinking Snape is _mean._ He is definitely mean. He criticizes everyones potions--even Malfoys, though Harry thinks it might be a token effort to keep people from thinking he's favoring his son over the other students. Draco certainly doesn't look perturbed when his father questions him on the consistency of his crushed snake fangs--he simply grinds them finer as the man had suggested.   
  
And, because apparently potions _is_ a very delicate and dangerous subject, as people keep telling him, Neville's cauldron decides to erupt in a acid-green smog, twisting the metal into a corroded, melted blob, and the potion spills to the floor, eating holes in peoples shoes along the way.   
  
Snape, in a lightning quick motion that stuns most of the first years, banishes the mess with a precise slash of his wand and, seethingly, says, "Idiot! Can you not read simple directions? What is your name?" He strides over to the source of the commotion, bumping his shoulder into Hermione and nearly upsetting her from the stool she'd stood on. Harry thinks he must of imagined the near inaudibly murmured _sorry_ he directs at her as she rights herself, because Snape still looks thunderously angry.   
  
"L-Longbottom," Neville whimpers, moaning softly in pain as boils pop up all over his skin.  
  
"I suppose I'll be paying closer attention to your desk, _Longbottom_ ," Snape snarls, before looking in the general direction of Seamus, who cowers a bit in response, and spitting, "Take him to the hospital wing," with a sharp nod towards the door.  
  
"Yessir," he says, doing just that, and quickly.  
  
He turns to their table, which is right next to Neville and Seamus', and says, harshly, "Potter, Weasley, next time your classmate tries to kill us all _do_ give at least a token effort to stop him. Another point from Gryffindor."  
  
That, Harry thinks, is patently unfair, but before he can say anything Ron kicks him under the table, shaking his head. He looks upset too, but he frowns and says, quietly, "Watch it, I've heard Snape can get right nasty if you push him."  
  
"It is _Professor_ Snape, Mr. Weasley. That is another point you've lost Gryffindor, now."   
  
Ron's face flushes an angry red, but he doesn't say anything else for the rest of the period. 

  
  
###  
  


Hagrid's hut, Harry muses, is brilliant, if a bit small. It's very cozy, and he thinks he rather likes it. Just as he finishes telling Hagrid all about their lessons, Ron exclaims "He _hates_ us, I swear! I mean, yeah, I thought he might not like me too much, given he's a _Malfoy_ , but--"  
  
"Now, Ron, I'm sure Professor Snape dun't give two sickles about that old family rivalry of yers. He's harsh to all the kids, not just yer family, ain't he now? Not tah mention he ain't even a Malfoy by half. Just married one, didn't he? Turnin' the whole lot of em' round for the better, last I heard, even!"  
  
"Well, yeah, but--!"  
  
"But nothin'. Snape's easily riled, likes tah mess with peoples heads an' get em angry, but he'd never let any of you kids get hurt, and that's good enough fer me."  
  
"Family rivalry?" Harry asks, bewilderedly. Ron flushes to the roots of his bright orange hair.  
  
"Well, yeah. The Malfoy's and my family never get along. Too many dark wizards come from that lot, I'm telling you, Harry!"  
  
"Now, Ron, don't you be fillin' Harry's head with all that nonsense. Blood ain't got nothing ta do with bein' dark! If yeh think like that you ain't bein' no better than them dark wizards you like to talk about so much, ain't yeh?"  
  
"I suppose," Ron says, sullenly.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Severus might bet on Quidditch with Minerva, but spectating it is far from his favorite passtime, least of all when sinister motives come in to play.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I figured out how to keep my copying and pasting from bungling the format, which happened in the first chapter. I'll fix that ASAP. 
> 
> Also, I am having an inordinate amount of trouble deciding on chapter names. If any of you have any ideas, I would eternally be in your debt x3

It's a flurry of activity for the next few months, teaching and keeping a sharp ear out for Quirrell, trying to make sure none of his idiot students get themselves killed, and maintaining the precarious balance between teacher and parent. Draco has more than once pouted about how _unfair_ it is that Severus doesn't pay him sepcial attention, which is ironic in itself. But favoritism for a student he _likes_ is a far different issue to being partial to his own flesh and blood, which he tells Draco repeatedly. "Pair up with Cissa and Rosier's boy and leave those thickheaded idiots behind, then I won't have to be so harsh on you. Everett I can get away with, and if you're his partner--"  
  
"Everett doesn't exactly exude menace, y'know!"  
  
"I _don't_ know because I can't see him, or your oafish new friends, at that."  
  
"I know you dislike Crabbe and Goyle, but--"  
  
"I _hate_ them, Dragon, and they're going to drag you down one of these days. Brains over brawn, we've _talked_ about this. I won't have you turning into a nitwitted, dunderheaded little thug like those two, I just won't." Draco smiles under his hand at that, and Severus rolls his eyes, lacking his glasses as he usually does in private or with family.  
  
Albus can't begrudge Draco for visiting his parent after his office hours, or him for letting him do so, at least. "Now, I hear you were setting Potter up to be expelled?" Severus asks idly, dropping his hand from where it had been casually settled against Draco's cheek--his son is expressive, and he likes to experience that, when he can. The boy's never had any complaints. He takes up his cup of tea--strong and bitter and entirely unsweetened--and Draco makes a grossed out noise and drops another sugar cube into his own with a loud _plunk._  
  
"Dunno how you drink it like that," he says, disgustedly. Severus grins behind his mug and raised one sleek black brow.   
  
"Draco," He drawls, in that expectant tone that brooks no arguement or evasion. "Don't change the subject."  
  
"Yes, _fine_ , I set Filch on him, okay? Serves him right, all famous and even getting a spot on the team! Why wasn't he _expelled_?"  
  
"It is out of my hands, Dragon," Severus says, softly. He _doesn't_ say that Potter is still a neutral party in his mind. He'd fully expected to hate the child, even braced himself for how arrogant and disgustingly entitled he'd be, but the way he spoke in Madame Malkin's had left him reeling, because he'd almost sounded like _her.  
  
That's a terrible thing to say!  
_  
Jumping to the defence of a complete stranger, the father of a boy he'd obviously not taken much of a liking to, for no reason at all except that that is what's right...Lily had had the same spitfire temper and bottomless well of compassion. Severus had decided then to reserve judgement. The voice still irks him, because _now_ he knows why it was so familiar, it's identical to that of his father, with all the sass and arrogant cheek that follows it, and while the boys moral compass might be a far leap in the right direction (not that Severus has ever been particularly _moral_ himself) his familiar tone and cadance raises Severus' hackles every time.  
  
Draco, though, despises him, and has taken to being his rival like a fish takes to water. Time seems to move in an unsettlingly cyclical fashion, and _of course_ his child would be a rival of Potters child. He only hopes that Harry has as much of Lily in him as Severus thinks he might, because if he takes a turn and goes the same path James Potter did....Severus doesn't know what he might do to keep his son safe from that torment, and that scares him.  
  
He doesn't know what _Draco_ might do, either, and he'll be damned if he lets the boy make the same mistakes he made all those years ago. He settles himself by remembering that Draco is wealthy and safe and loved, popular like his father and well-kempt. He is not a impoverished, ugly pariah like Severus was at his age, with a drunkard father and a half-mad mother. (He apologizes mutely to his father, because he _is_ sober now, if still rough around the edges. His mothers still a nutcase, though.)

"Hey, the floos chiming," Draco says, sounding concerned. "Where'd you go off to? Mum?"  
  
"Right! Sorry," he murmurs, shaking himself. "Just thinking... Answer it for me, will you?" He asks, dryly.   
  
"You're sure?" Draco asks, sounding very excited to do something so simple. With Severus' nod he hops out of his chair, and strides over to the fireplace with all the cocky swagger of his father. Severus isn't his own father, or his own father-in-law, for that matter, and had never had the heart to beat it out of him. Despite how much they tell him to. And Lucius, despite how he comes off to people, feels the same. Severus'll just have to nag him a little big more, about it. Maybe do something sly and underhanded like his mother would.  
  
"It's father!"   
  
"Why is he _calling_ us? That man--just tell him to come through already," Severus snaps, though Draco only laughs softly and relays his message.   
  
A moment later, the fireplace flares and out steps his husband, calm and a bit cold. Literally, Severus notes with a sharp hiss as the man comes up behind his chair and immediately plunks his ice-cold fingers down on the nape of his neck. "You are _freezing_ ," Severus gasps, leaning sharply to the side to avoid the offending digits, while Lucius just chuckles warmly and smooths an equally chilled thumb against the crook of his neck, and up over a thick, overly sensitive scar that winds halfway around his neck. "Fuck, _stop_ that, damnit--!" He lurches out of the chair and immediately finds himself caught up in Lucius' strong arms, which wrap snuggly around his waist and tug him close. The man is _laughing_ at him, which is utterly unacceptable. "One of these days," Severus says, exasperated and fond and more affectionate than he will ever admit, "I am going to hex you through a _wall_ , or perhaps _several_ walls, Lucius, you mark my words."  
  
"You already pushed me into the black lake all those years ago," Lucius purrs, utterly unapologetic as he strokes his still far too cold hand through Severus' hair to cup his jaw. He smells like the scotch pine and lemongrass, with a bit of lavender--Severus has always liked that cologne, and Lucius makes a point of wearing it almost every day, since the day he learned about his husbands preference for it. Severus rolls his eyes and locks his fingers together at the base of Lucius' neck, leaning up on the balls of his feet to press a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth. Lucius has to bend down for it to work, but they've been married for just over twelve years and he does it without a thought. "Also, I'm fairly certain you _have_ hexed me through a wall, once, when you were, what? Fifteen? Sixteen?" He's sounding far too happy about all that, and Severus remembers Draco is in the room after a good fifteen seconds of Lucius trying to pull his soul out through his mouth like a bloody dementor. Whoops.  
  
"I know you get off on having married someone who could utterly obliterate you with a well placed spell, but _please_ do keep it in your pants, dear. Young ears are present." Severus says, grinning terribly. Lucius turns his head, chortling under his breath--Draco must be making quite the face.  
  
"Gods, you should see how utterly _disgusted_ he looks right now," Lucius muses, "it's very funny."   
  
Draco makes a pointedly grossed out noise when Lucius kisses him again, soundly on the mouth, and they part, taking mercy on their embarrassed son. Severus sits down on the loveseat by the fire and Lucius joins him, while Draco perches himself in the chair Severus had just left.   
  
"I thought you were still needed in Norway," Severus remarks idly.  
  
"Things got done early, and I know you _abhor_ quidditch, but you said you were worried about that boy and the DADA Professor. Squirrel, was it? Thought I might sit in on a game. And as a...member of the board...I thought it prudent to see that the children are safe."  
  
"You're going to the game?" Draco asks, enthused. Severus doesn't bother correcting Lucius on Quirrel's name. It will be much funnier to see Lucius call him that in person.  
  
"Why yes, I am. And I will certainly be there for every game _you_ play, when you get on the team. It should've been you that broke that record for the youngest seeker in a century, Dragon."  
  
"Damn right!"  
  
" _Language_ , Draco," Severus snaps. Draco apologizes, sounding not very sorry at all, and Severus settles against Lucius' side, the blonds arm around his waist, as his husband and son start well-meaningly bickering about Quidditch plays. If the topic was chess, he might'vs found it interesting, but as it stands he's finding more comfort in listening to the heartbeats of the two most important people in his life, and their voices.   
  
He must doze off at some point, because he jolts his eyes open to Lucius' hand shaking him gently awake, though the action is rather moot. "Severus, love?" Severus hums plaintively and hides his face against Lucius' chest. "Come on, to the bedroom with you," Lucius says, amusedly. He tries to negotiate the man onto his feet, but eventually just scoffs and gathers him into his arms instead. Severus is all lanky limbs and delicate bone structure, and weighs far less than he probably should.   
  
"Draco...?" Severus murmurs, pressing his face against Lucius' shoulder and locking one hand around the nape of his neck.   
  
"Went back to the dorms an hour ago. I read for a while before deciding we should relocate," Lucius reassures, nudging the door to the bedroom open and sighing at the general disarray within. "You've been working yourself too hard again, haven't you?"

"If I wasn't you'd think I was being impersonated," Severus snipes, making an indignant noise as he hears some of his books thunk to the floor none too gently. A moment later, though, he's in his bed, and decides he'll worry about it later. He hears Lucius unlacing his shoes and dressing down from whatever ridiculously complicated outfit he'd decided to wear today, and sits up with a put upon noise to do the same with what he's still wearing of his teaching robes. He _has_ been overworking, because usually he's not in bed until _at least_ three am, and he's bone tired now, despite it being what, midnight? Eleven o'clock?  
  
"Really, when is the last time you actually managed to get a good nights sleep?" Lucius says, sounding both worried and a bit aggitated. Large hands slap his away to work at the buttons of his dress shirt when they refuse to come undone under his fingers.  
  
"Do _not_ nag me, Lucius. The last time you found a particular bizarre cursed object you didn't sleep for _five days_ \--"  
  
"It was fascinating. And I _did_ untangle that cipher, didn't I?" The dip in the bed recedes as Lucius gets up to raid his wardrobe for their nightclothes.  
  
"Five. Days. _And_ you had to break the curse to even get to the cipher," Severus admonishes. "The cipher wasn't even very impressive--hardly worth the effort."   
  
"And nearly breaking your neck trying to find a particularly biolumiscent fungi _is_? You can't even _see_ all of those glowing plants you collect, you know. I don't know why you bother."  
  
"You know damn well," Severus laughs, shaking his head a bit. Lucius hums noncommitally and tosses him an old, soft cotton button up. He's fairly sure it's not even his, too big by far, but then, sleeping in Lucius' shirts isn't exactly something to complain about. The bed dips again, covers are pulled back.  
  
"And _you_ know why I like cursebreaking," Lucius says, in that sultry tone that suggests that he's about to try something more than snogging. Severus hums and presses up for a kiss, but he catches the mans hands when they try to slide downwards from where they're curled around his sides.  
  
"Sorry," Severus murmurs, even as Lucius backs off and pulls him close instead, under the covers.   
  
"I was just nagging you for not sleeping enough," Lucius says, fondly, "It would be rather hypocritical of me to keep you up all night, wouldn't it?" Severus certainly missed falling asleep with Lucius' arms wrapped around him, and his breathing warm and slow against the back of his neck.   
  
Severus wakes up to the sound of running water and the clinking of the cabinet above the sink opening and shutting. "Stupid bloody dog, I swear, that mentor of yours is absolutely _barking_ mad--Letting a cerberus into the school," Lucius is complaining, still riffling around in his cabinets. Severus chuckles softly, rolling over in bed and swinging his legs over the side. "Of all the half-witted, hairbrained things to do!" Lucius complains, seethingly, as he smacks Severus' hands away and tends to his leg himself. Severus had told him about it (read: complained) after it happened over floo call. Cerberus bites are immune to most healing spells, though he has a salve that's helping speed up the healing process.  
  
Severus gets up, hurrying through his morning routine given that he has, apparently, slept in. The running water is a bit overwarm, which he does by habit rather than purposefully. The room fills with steam, and he pulls Lucius' shirt off over his head to drop it in the hamper behind the door. Lucius has gone back to raiding his cabinets, for some bloody reason, but he ignores it in favor of stepping into the shower. When a strong arm pins him firmly to the tile wall he hisses out a soft, half-hearted admonishment, "I am going to be _late._ " It's immediately followed by a rather embarrassingly lewd noise that Lucius' presses out of him by slotting his knee between his thighs.  
  
"It's saturday," Lucius purrs, "You aren't required at every meal. Besides, I've missed you." Lucius' mouth latches onto the thin column of his throat, a hint of teeth and a hand sliding steadily lower on his body banishing any protests he might've had. Then, Lucius pauses, waiting for Severus' okay. Severus always appreciates that--it sends a now-familiar warm feeling to full bloom in his chest, that Lucius _cares_ enough to check in. Most men, in Severus' limited but unfortunate experience, don't. And certainly not married ones.  
  
"Alright," Severus gasps out, voice thick and a little heady, tangling his fingers into Lucius' hair and tugging. "Fine, yes--oh _\--please!"_  
  
_Really,_ Severus thinks exasperated, a good fifteen minutes later, as he towels his hair dry. They aren't twenty anymore, and he resolves to wear one of his high collared shirts when he finds a new hickie on his neck with his fingers. No, _two_ new hickies. Maybe a turtleneck, that one is rather high up, isn't it?  
  
"Hagrid shouldn't be allowed to have so many monsters running about--he's employed at a _school_ for gods sake. Why on earth were you anywhere near the thing, anyways?"  
  
"Blame Quirrel, sneaking around as he was--I'm going to ask Albus to add another layer to the defences down there. We already have seven, right now, but I think Fluffy might be compromised,"   
  
"Perhaps a cipher?" Lucius says, and really, Severus can _hear_ him grinning. "And he called that beast _Fluffy?"_  
  
"You get far too excited at the prospect of a jumble of letters and runes, Lucius," Severus tells him, smiling to himself as he picks out one of his warmer ensembles from the wardrobe. "But then, another obstacle that requires more than luck and magical prowess is a good idea. Would you have the time to put something together?"  
  
"Hm. I could, but he doesn't exactly _trust_ me," Lucius says, wryly. "Why, what if _I_ was out to get that precious little rock?"  
  
"Well, you won't, because being locked into the Prince line already gave you a plenty long lifespan. He knows this--not to mention how much help you were in the first war. To question your true loyalties would be foolish, after that mess."  
  
"Hm. True enough, I suppose. Should get Nelson to sit in on the match too--make it an _authentic_ examination of safety regulations, mm?"  
  
###  
  
The air is unpleasantly frigid, and Severus pulls his coat tighter around himself despite the warm, thick knit jumper he's wearing beneath it. He laces his gloved fingers through Lucius' where the mans hand is rested on his hip as they walk down to the pitch, surrounding by the chatter of excited teachers and students alike.   
  
"Lucius? What are you doing here?" Says a familiar voice in a stern, scottish brogue. Minerva's sudden, warm presence at his side is unsurprising, and he manages to throw her a wan half-smile. _Betting_ on Quidditch is one thing, but being in the stands is enitrely another. There's a fair bit of anxiety involved in sitting fifty feet up with no way of knowing where the nearest rogue bludger is.   
  
"Oh, just making sure Hogwarts is keeping up with the typical safety regulations. Nelson's here somewhere too," Lucius drawls, masterfully managing to sound casual and bored despite the fact that that is definitely not what he's really here for.  
  
"Of course," Minerva says, wryly, giving Severus a firm squeeze on the shoulder before she swans off to find Albus. Eventually, they find themselves in the teachers box opposite the first one with the announcers, with Quirrel sitting unfortunately close to him. As the game starts, Severus finds himself at the very least amused by the announcer--or, more accurately, Minerva's rising irritation in response to him--and finds himself chuckling whenever she sharply reprimands the boy.   
  
He can't very well follow the game in-time, though Lucius seems to be enjoying himself. Severus can appreciate the mans passion for the game, though he _does_ hide it well, for appearances sake. He also appreciates Lucius murmuring the different goings on that the announcer doesm't bother with, every once and a while, trying to keep him involved. Usually, Severus would just busy himself with a book, letting his husband have his fun, as he does whenever he manages to cajole him into attending the larger, professional games, but he's paying too much attention to Quirrel for that.   
  
None of this stops him from stifling winces whenever the crowd grows too loud for his sensitive hearing, or even stiffening with barely there flinches every time a bludger gets hit in an errant direction and slams against their stand or others, which happens unfortunately often.   
  
"M-M-Must be st-stressful, eh, S-S-Snape? Not being a-able to s-s-see during such a d-d-dangerous game?" There's a cold, mocking undertone to his stammering, pathetic voice, and Severus' jaw locks around a scathing insult. "I h-have to w-w-wonder, what you're d-d-doing here at all."

His eyes narrow behind his solid-tinted glassed in a fearsome scowl, and his hand tightens in what must be a painful grip around Lucius', but he feels Quirrel turn his attention back to the game and decides to drop it, for the moment. "What was that?" Lucius whispers rhetorically, and Severus feels him straighten up a bit, probably scowling at Quirrel over his head.   
  
A moment later, Severus' sharp hearing catches a barely there murmuring from beside him, and at the same time Lucius tenses, and he feels some of the other staff become similarly rigid. He strains his magic, trying to figure out what the hel is going on, and finds a familiar magical energy lashing out from _right_ beside him, onto the pitch. All color drains from his face, and he catches Lucius' arm in a vice-like grip. Ths spell is as familiar as the magic behind it, and he says, in a soft, hissed whisper, "Who?"  
  
"It's Potter," Lucius replies, equally quiet as he watches his spouse hurriedly remove his spectacles, blind, black as pitch eyes following some unseen course until they settle, unnervingly, onto Potter, who is now dangling precariously from his broom. Severus can't see him, he knows--he's "seeing" the magic working against the boy, whatever it is, and starts breathlessly murmuring a countercurse, never taking his eyes from the boys location. Severus had figured out how to get past the eye-contact requirement certain spells operate with _years_ ago, a clever use of magic almost identical to legilimency which locates and reads magical signatures rather than thoughts. He'd of gotten an Order of Merlin for devising it if he hadn't kept it such a secret due to the wartime. His wand is still tucked away in his coat, one hand still holding his spectacles and the other holding onto Lucius' arm in a painfully tight grip, and Lucius looks around for anyone who _is_ channelling through their wand, lacking the power to do such a spell without something to conduct with. There aren't many who could, and even Lucius can only manage the barest necessities in wandless magic, not for lack of trying. He can't imagine that anyone here besides Severus and Dumbledore (and, perhaps, McGonagall) have that amount of power at their beck and call.  
  
No-one else in their stand has a wand out, not even Quirrel, whose lips are moving in barely visible patterns that _might_ be a curse or jinx, but the pathetic, spineless little worm couldn't hope to wandlessly cast such a curse, could he? Sure, Severus has found him suspicious, that's why he's _here_ , but wandless magic seems beyond him, suspicious or no.  
  
To his relief, the Potter boy finds his way back onto his broom, which is still bucking against him but no longer in a potentially fatal manner.   
  
Suddenly, after another few breathless moments of subtly searching for whoever is cursing the little brat, Quirrel lurches forward and falls face first into the row in front of theirs. "What the devil--" Lucius mutters, brows knit in bemusement despite the gravity of this situation for a moment, watching Quirrel curse and stammer and apologize to his fellow teachers.  
  
Then, in a spark, Severus' heavy, black wool coat catches fire in a diminutive flare of blue flames. Lucius twists around to cast narrowed eyes on the gap beneath the seating and catches a flash of frizzy, bushy hair that disappears before he can see anything more of whoever did that.  
  
At the same time Severus breaks eyecontact with a startled, bewildered noise and snaps the fire out with a click of his fingers, Potter's broom rights itself. Severus smooths his thumb over the jagged little hole the flame had eater into his coat absentmindedly, feeling the fabric knit itself back together under his hand, and tries to regulate his shaky breathing. His mark aches, he's just felt an impossibly familiar magic at work, and, because of _course_ it does, a bludger decides to take this moment to smash noisily against the stands. Fumbling to put his spectacles back on, he flinches away when Quirrel sets himself back in his seat, set even further on edge by the nervous, apologetic laugh that he utters, whcih again holds that frigid, almost sinister undertone. His hands won't stop their shaking, and when Lucius clasps them in his own and switches their seats so that Severus is sat in between him and Pomona, he murmurs a grateful _thank you._ Lucius just hums neutrally and wraps an around around him possessively.   
  
Fortunately, he doesn't have to sit their with his frayed nerves and roaring, panicked thoughts, because the game comes to a halt just moments later, and in utter confusion, to boot. Apparently, the idiot boy had nearly _swallowed_ the snitch--he can hear his slytherins lamenting the loss, though some have gone straight past angry to roaring laughter with the rest of the crowd at the absurdity of the win.   
  
He still startles badly whenever someone bumps into them on the way down from the stands and off the pitch, and has to keep a tight reign on his magic lest he do something stupid.   
  
"Severus! Severus!" A familiar voice calls, rather breathlessly. He pauses, the crowd flowing around himself and Lucius, and finds Minerva grabbing his arm tightly. "What happened, out there?" She asks, severely. "I saw you, with your glasses off up there. It almost..well, it almost looked like you could _see,_ " she says, in a harsh whisper. "And you were looking right at Mr. Potter, when he--"  
  
"It was Quirrel," Severus hisses back, still wrought with a painful tension, mark still burning, feeling nearly sick to his stomach at the thought that Voldemort is _indeed_ back, and somehow _possessing_ a teacher. There is no other explanation for what he felt back there. The magic was unmistakeable, but Quirrel's magic was there too, more than one signature in the same body. How did he not notice it before? "Minerva, you _know_ I wouldn't--"  
  
"I know!" She hurriedly reassures, a bit too loudly. He hears some people pause, but a glare from him gets them moving. Older students, then--those ones have figured out when he's scowling even without being able to see his eyes. The joys of microexpressions. "Oh, Severus, I know, I just--Seeing you doing that again. I suppose it reminded me of worse times," she says, almost apologetically.   
  
"Come on, we need to see this dealt with--" Lucius interrupts.  
  
"There _is_ no current way to deal with it. Potter lives, therefore the problem is not urgent, and Albus is still trying his best to ignore the situation beyond protecting the stone. He wants His return to be true as little as we do, and he already knows Quirrel is up to something, anyways."  
  
"If we could _prove_ \--" Minerva says, conspiratorally. Severus' ear twitches reflexively as he feels the familiar burning sensation of someone watching them. That magic is back, now prying at his mind and failing to get past his shields. He shudders.   
  
"I will, I will, yes, fine. Keep your head down and do try not to worry, I'll sort this out."  
  
"Quirrel's aware of you finding him out," Lucius tells him once they're relatively alone in the corridors, casting a nonverbal _muffilatio_ before speaking. "Will he do something?"   
  
"I don't know," Severus responds lowly. He really doesn't. Quirrel apparently isn't _just_ after the stone, he's also proved himself entirely capable of trying to murder an eleven year old boy. Which, if Severus is right about the Dark Lord's wraith (as Albus had dubbed it so many years ago) somehow managing to occupy or influence Quirrel, is going to be the _least_ of his worries. He's going to need to start watching his back even more thoroughly. Metaphorically, of course. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's some fanart for this AU on my tumblr account, severusevans-snape, under the tag "ableism & scotch pine" if anyone's interested


End file.
